


Christmas In Panem

by Alliswell



Series: Christmas in Panem [1]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Canon Compliant, Christmas Fluff, Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, blink and you miss it smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-02 11:38:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16786231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: For 75 years The Capitol suppressed all festivities that could bring joy and hope to the Districts, but with the birth of the Free Republic of Panem, the new leaders are attempting to bringing back the forgotten costumes of the old days, when Panem was known as America. Christmas has caught the eye of one District 12 baker.Prompt by Megeaulover, for The Hunger Games: Season of Hope Gift Exchange:Katniss and Peeta first Christmas after they become a couple in canon. Getting their first tree, setting up their own traditions, Katniss tries to bake, etc.





	Christmas In Panem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MegaAuLover](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MegaAuLover/gifts).



> This is a work of Fan Fiction, for which I am not perceiving financial gain. All rights belong to SC.
> 
> All mistakes are mine. Not betaed.
> 
> I’m posting this early, because I know MegaAULover has had a rough weekend and needs a bit of cheer. I heart You R!

For 75 years, The Capitol suppressed any festivity and holiday that gave any kind of respite the District folk to the point of erasure. Only our own Harvest Festival and the dreaded Hunger Games feasts were celebrated after the first rebellion was thwarted. But ever since the birth of the Free Republic of Panem, our new leaders have made all kinds of attempts at bringing back the forgotten costumes of the old days, when Panem was known as North America.

For instance, President Paylor has reopened international relations that had been severed since the Dark Days with countries the majority of our people ignored existed until a few months back. The world opened up for us, and things we never knew about are starting to trickle in little by little.

One of the many new festivities Panem historians are studying at the moment is something called Christmas. Apparently, Christmas has been celebrated worldwide for thousands of years, and the folklore varies from place to place. I don’t understand everything about it, but the bullet points of the celebration is the commemoration of some great historical figure’s— The man was a revolutionary on his own with many followers and detractors alike— birth date. Then theres family, which I guess is a great thing to celebrate if you still have yours— Peeta and I only have each other... and Haymitch.

All in all, I find interesting all the nuisances about all the new holidays Paylor, Plutarch and the new leaders are reviving, but Peeta has been soaking up every bit of Christmas knowledge he comes across, while I mostly just listed of the tidbits they talk about on television or articles written in the report magazine we get every month courtesy of the Presidential office. It's clear Christmas is a baker’s dreamed holiday, because my enthusiastic husband has found any number of ancient recipes that cater to the festivity and is making it his business to try every single one at least once. I never thought there would be a day in which I was so full of pastries I’d had to demand he’d stopped baking me treats. But that’s where we’re standing at right now.

Another thing driving me insane is the crazy hours Peeta has been pulling in his bakery every day. He comes home at midnight almost every night, covered in whatever batter or frosting he’s been experimenting with that day. And although he insists I don’t wait up, I can never relax enough to lay down and rest until he’s back where I can see him safe and sound with my own two eyes. I know he’s secretly relieved I'm waiting for him every time he opens our front door and finds me in the sitting room pacing aimlessly. We still can't deal with separation very well.

Thankfully, Christmas happens on a specific date of the year; the 25th day of December, so when Peeta asks me on December 24th if I could come to the bakery and help him bake, iced and package Christmas cookies, I jump eagerly to his side.

My piping isn’t as neat or pretty as Peeta’s, but he’s given me the simplest kind of cookie to decorate, and although he still has a whole 3 dozen cookies to iced himself, he stands behind me, circling his strong arms around me— so deceptively gentle— to show me his techniques.

I would be lying if I say I wasn’t all worked up by his proximity within minutes of our shared task, but I know we need these pastries done so we can go home and I’ll have him all to myself then, so instead of reacting and following through with my growing hunger for him, I squirt chocolate icing into his arm.

“Hey!” He protests with a surprised snort.

“What?” I act innocently, turning in his arms and squirting another glob of the stuff on his nose.

Before I know it, we are laughing and covered in sticky frosting. He licks my cheek under the guise of cleaning up pink icing, and soon we are kissing— not so innocently— pressed up together against the counter where the cookies are waiting. After a while, the playful kisses turn sweet and languid, and I know he’s thinking of the work ahead of us. My Peeta is nothing if not a responsible baker. Finally, he gives me a sweet peck on the lips and rests his forehead on mine.

“This is possibly my favorite thing to do for Christmas so far.” He says quietly as his icing smelling breath hits my cheek.

“What, making out in the bakery?” I ask wryly.

He chuckles caressing my face with his thumb. “No,” he says amusedly. “Baking and decorating cookies with my sweetheart.” He plants another kiss on me, this time on the tip of my nose.

“Okay.” I breathe out a small chuckle myself. “How about we make it our little tradition? Baking and icing cookies on Christmas Eve and maybe putting some aside for the neighborhood children?” I pose.

He smiles brightly at me. “I was thinking bigger actually.” He says, “I was hoping to set aside a couple dozen cookies to sell tomorrow, the rest I want to bring to the Children’s Home, along some cakes and pies.”

I smile at that, because I see my _Boy with the Bread_ shining through in this generous gesture. Many children were left orphaned by the war, and some districts have new, specialized houses to care for the 'Children of Panem', as the new government calls them. While it isn’t nearly as awful as the orphanages before the rebellion, this place is still sad at times and in need of people donating food and time to spend with the kids.

“I think you are thinking in the right direction, sir!” I say grabbing his face in both of my hands and smacking my lips to his. “Now stop distracting me! I have 3 dozen little gingerbread people to dress.” I smack his bottom playfully with my open hand and he tries to glare at me, but fails miserably when his lips keep quirking up.

I’m honestly thankful I only have to squeeze a few tiny dollops of chocolate frosting on this children-shaped cookies giving them eyes, a smiling mouth and three buttons down their bellies. I do about 50 of those before I have to stop and massage the stiffness off my painful hand. I look up and realize there’s still a handful of the guys in the tray waiting for me on the counter. I groan to the ceiling.

Peeta’s hunched over his own tray of cookies, a stack of old books and baking magazines showing pictures of Christmas decor sitting next to him, open to a design he’s pipping on his treats. It’s an intricate design, a silhouette of a family riding a donkey, illuminated by what I think is a star. The particular scene he’s working on is not actually part of the baked good samples, but something that looks more like advertisement on one of the books. It’s pretty, I’ll give him that, but he still has to repeat the design another 20 times before he’s done.

“What time is it?” I ask stretching my neck from side to side and rolling back my shoulders repeatedly hearing all my bones make a satisfactory cracking noise as I move.

Peeta looks up from his work, as if he’d forgotten we were working together tonight. He shakes his head, and too late I realize I missed my chance to just watch him get lost in his art, giving me that glimpse of my pre-hijacking Peeta I love to stare at so much. The one with the removed expression that hints of a world of wonder hidden inside his creative mind.

“Yikes!” He exclaims taken aback. “I’m sorry Katniss. It’s almost one o’clock.” He says grimacing. “Um. You wanna wash up and pick out something to snack on while I put everything away? I’ll be quick, then we can go home.” He says already pushing away his tray of cookies and wiping his hands on his apron.

“No, it’s fine.” I tell him. “We should finish this ones right now.” I say gesturing to the few trays still waiting for us.

Peeta shakes his head with a wide smile. He comes to me and plants a sonorous kiss on the top of my head. “Thank you for being helpful and understanding, but I think we both deserve a little rest. I can pick up tomorrow where we left off tonight.” He winks at me, making my stomach swoon.

Without further discussion, we put our finished treats under wraps, and head home for the night. As we walk back to Victor’s Village wrapped up in each other’s arms, I decide that this, walking home with the man I love after a long day at the bakery, is my favorite tradition of all, Christmas or not.

* * *

On Christmas Day, Peeta wakes me early with tender kisses and contented sighs. We made love the previous night-- as we do almost every night-- but this time, after we had time to regain our breaths and our heart rates had slowed to a rhythmical tattoo that complemented the other, he wrapped his arms tightly around me and whispered into my ear shyly,

_“Will you marry me?”_

_Taken aback I looked up into his eyes, confused, since we’ve toasted together many months ago and have been effectively living as husband and wife ever since._

_“I mean legally.” He explained clearing his throat. “I want to put your name in the bakery’s deed. Everything that’s mine is yours, I just want it all on paper and notarized.” He said flustered._

_“You want me to be a Mellark?” I asked him with mixed and contradictory emotions. Of course I would take his name, I love him, but that will mean dropping my own last name killing the Everdeen line at the same time. It'll be like burying my father all over again. And then, I had to scratch the image of my father off my mind, because it as just weird to be naked in bed with Peeta, post coital, thinking of my father._

_“What? No,_ **I** _want to be an_ Everdeen _!” He sputtered almost offended._

_“Not really,” I said laughing, really laughing. “You can’t seriously want to be an Everdeen. What would— Haymitch say?” I covered my near slip quickly. I almost brought his dead family up._

_“I don’t care what Haymitch or anybody else thinks.” He wrinkled his nose. “Not even my mother if she was here.” He gave me a pointed look knowing full well my unspoken words. “I’ll have you know, I_ always _dreamt of being an Everdeen.” Peeta said haughtily._

_I snorted this time watching his face as he glared at me. “Why would you want to be an Everdeen? We are all scrawny and dark and too hungry. We are also kind of broody. We really aren’t much.”_

_“No. You Everdeens are brave and smart, hardworking and strong, willful and nurturing, skilled hunters and to top it all of, you sing like angels.”_

_“Angels?” I repeated curiously._

_“Yeah. Winged creatures that apparently predominanted Christmas decorations before the Dark Days. They’re usually depicted singing or playing the harp.”_

_I smiled then, because he truly knew a lot about Christmas, and he clearly was projecting his love for me and my family on to the season._

_“What’s not to like about being an Everdeen?” He asked in a low, gravely voice that did things to my tummy, he rolled on top of me and used his good knee to widen apart my thighs to nestled in between them. When his hips were snuggly cradled between my legs, he gave me a lopsided grin and ground our centers together coaxing from me a chuckle that died in a moan._

_I smiled up at him around a small gasp and slid my hands over his strong arms, around the planes of his solid chest until I circled his neck with both arms. I love it when he knows with surety I’m his and he’s mine. There’s no need to ask for permission in moments like those, we just look into each other’s eyes and know without shodow of a doubt that once he slips into me, he’s home, where we both belong._

_Peeta leaned forward to kiss me quickly, positioned himself at my entrance, and entered me slowly. I was still sticky with the juices of our previous round, but a new wave of desire was already washing over._

_“Mmm…” I moaned contented at our joining and squeezed my arms around Peeta’s neck. He moved languidly with long, measured strokes. This was just a reassuring and loving joining. I was able to tell him what was in my heart without fear of misspeaking. “Being an Everdeen sounds pretty great when you describe it like that. But I think I want to be more traditional and take my husband’s name.”_

_“We could always hyphenate it…” He exhaled into my neck as he moved shallowly within me. “Make the change together.” He whispered into the sensitive skin of my neck._

_I smiled at him, because Peeta Mellark was the most precious thing this world has to offered and he was willing to change his name to show his commitment to me. That, more than anything else convinced me that was the right choice, so I kissed him._

_“We’ll figure all the details later. For now, I just want you to kiss me and make cum.”_

_”That would be my pleasure, ma’am!”_ _And he did it happily, quickening his pace to a frenzy._

Now, at first light of day and knowing the understanding we reached last night still stands more firmer than ever, Peeta seems giddy. Excitement shining in his blue, happy eyes.

“Get up!” He half begs, half cajoles like a toddler wanting to play outside on a spring day. “I got you a present!” He giggles, perpetrating the boyish image in my head.

I roll my eyes good naturedly and shove him off me before swinging my legs out of the bed. “Can I take a shower first? I’m all sticky with _you_.” I grimace, but he just looks smug and proud of himself, so I slap his already clothed chest to wipe the smirk of his handsome face.

“But… gift!!!” He mock whines as I jump out of bed and walk to the bathroom.

“Cleaning first, presents later.” I call out from the bathroom turning on the shower.

“Fine… but the cheese buns and hot chocolate will be cold by then.” Peeta says lightly examining his fingernails.

I scowl, “Cleaning first, _then_ breakfast, _then_ presents!” I tell him firmly stepping into the warm water stream. “And keep my food warm!” I yell.

10 minutes later, I’m rushing down the stairs, eager for my buns and hot chocolate, but Peeta’s not in the kitchen; neither is my breakfast!

Confused, I round the wall separating the kitchen and dining room just to find it deserted as well. I try the sitting room next, and sigh relieved to see him sitting by the fireplace, where a few limbs of pine needles and pine cones are placed neatly on the mantle, with red bows and white holly berries adorning the greenery in a pleasing display. I know for a fact none of those where there last night when we came home. Now I’m wondering if Peeta ever went to sleep after we made love for the second time last night.

“That’s pretty,” I point to the mantle. “Smells delightful too. Like having the woods inside the house.”

Peeta grins at me basking in the praise. 

Buttercup catches up to me as I walk towards Peeta, but soon leaps to his side, where he curls up and goes to sleep. I guess we both agree Peeta’s warmth is the best place to nap. 

“What’s this?” I ask noticing he’s made a picnic on the rug in front of the hearth.

“Christmas breakfast!” Peeta says cheerfully, drumming his fingers on a parcel wrapped in brown paper and packaging string. “For you.” He says eagerly, handing me the parcel when I finally sit down across him.

I humor him and open the gift, trying not to stare longingly at the basket of freshly baked cheese buns oozing with melted goodness next to the pot of steaming hot chocolate in the middle of the rug.

I finally tear up the packaging to find the softest, warmest, green scarf ever. It has a matching hat with a crochet katniss flower on the side. The flower is a little crooked, but I think the set it’s cuter because of it. I can’t imagine katniss blooms can be that popular to craft anyway, so whoever made this one, clearly had to design it from scratch.

“Peeta, these are beautiful!” I tell him smiling.

“So you like them?” He asks anxiously.

“I love them!” I beam at my gifts running my fingers on the uneven stitching, that betrays the handmade labor of an inexperienced knitter. It’s delicate and careful enough you can barely notice it, but I know from my mother’s own scarves and hats she knitted for our family through the years, that her needlepoint was a bit tighter. A bit more precise.

I’m about to ask him where he got them, but he starts rambling before I can get a word in.

“I wanted to include gloves to go with the scarf and hat, but time ran away from me, and then I realized that the fingers where going to be complicated to knit. Your mother suggested we tried fingerless gloves, but then I was thinking that your fingers would get cold, so I asked about those mittens you can flip open, and the fingers get free? I figured you could still hunt with something like that, without having to remove the whole mit off, but, again… the time restraint, and your mother had a few days that her schedule didn’t allowed her much time for our knitting class on the phone—“

“Wait, wait, wait!” I urge rising my hands to slow him down. “You knit me a scarf and hat for Christmas, with directions you got over the phone?” I’m in awe.

“Well, your mother is very patient.” He says shyly. “She sent some material to the bakery. Effie sent some video tutorials, but I found I liked the conversation with your mother while I watched the tutorial on mute much better, and I think she enjoyed the calls as well.”

I’m staring at him, as if it’s the first time I see him for who he really is, which is ludicrous, because I saw who he really was at age 11 when he was the only person in the world that showed me any compassion through the bread of hope he gave me.

In a weird way, I realize I’m deeply in love with him, again... more than I could ever imagine!

Peeta is in the middle of another spiel about his knitting, that I’m sure is very interesting, but I just throw myself at him and kiss his mouth like I’m starving for him— because let’s face it, I _am_ starving for him, always. It just took me a bit to realize it.

I’ve caught him off guard, he flails his arms, perturbing Buttercup’s nap, and not a second later the furball is hissing at us in aggravation, but who cares? Peeta’s embracing me and kissing me back passionately now.

His hands are in my hair, and mine are fisting his curls tightly. Things are heating up rapidly, and I’m all for a repeat of last night. I start pawing at his shirt, trying to unbutton it blindly. I got the top one undone and proceed to the second one, and then our front door gets thrown open and my ears ring with people stomping inside.

“Brainless! Bread Boy! Are you decent?”

”Probably not.” Haymitch grumbles. 

Peeta and I jump apart startled by Johanna’s and Haymitch’s intrusion. I curse our easy lives for not needing to lock our doors, but then Johanna is sauntering into the room with her bags and an enormous grin that tells me she knew exactly well what she did. Haymitch lags behind with a hand covering his eyes. I groan and roll my eyes.

“Brainless, you’re dressed!” Says Johanna feigning relief, then turns to Peeta and shakes her head in disappointment, “So are you, Peeta bread. I was hoping to catch you in the act and get an eye full of your sweet behind.” She says winking at him.

Haymitch makes a grossed out noise and quips, “Then you stay here at my place and I take yours in 7. I’ve walked in on this two bunny rabbits more times than I care to remember.” He shudders in disgust and all I can do I scowl at him. “Anywho. Here’s Johanna. I’m taking whatever bread is in the kitchen and I’m outta here. There’s a brand new bottle keeping my living room warm for me at home.” He gives us this weird two finger salute and staggers away. A moment later, we hear him leave the house by slayshut the front door.

”Was that necessary?” I yell after him, but he’s gone.

Peeta chuckles rolling his eyes, “Well, come on in, Johanna. By all means. We were just starting on breakfast.” He says gesturing to the food on the rug.

“At least I get to try your buns, sweet cheeks.” Johanna says suggestively, wiggling her eyebrows. She plops down between us on the floor and practically stretches above us to take a cheese bun.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your visits, but how come you didn’t tell us you were coming? We could’ve come to the train station to greet you.” I tell her snatching away the cheese bun she’s about to bite into, because there’s no way I’m going to let her have the first bite of my treats after that stunt she just pulled.

“Katniss is right.” Says Peeta handing her another bun and filling up our two mugs with hot chocolate.

Johanna takes a big bite of her bun and starts talking with her mouth full, just to aggravate me, “Meh, Haymitch was there waiting. Plus... It’s Peeta’s doin’.”

“Mine?” He exclaims. Then hands one mug to me and another to Johanna. He gets to his knees right after. “I don’t recall setting this visit up.” He says standing up. “I’ll be back. Gonna get more food and another mug.” He gives Johanna a pointed look and all she does is shrug and dip her bun in the chocolate.

“Good! I’m hungry! The food quality in the trains has gone to the crappers after they stopped serving only Tributes and Victors.”

“Johanna!” I hiss.

“What? He’s fine, Brainless. He won’t get triggered just by me saying _Tributes_ _and_ _Victors_.”

“Well he could…” I tell her annoyedly.

“I’m okay, sweetie.” Peeta says coming back into the room with an extra plate full of muffins and tarts and an empty mug for himself. “I still don’t know what did I do to afford us a visit from Jo.” He says offering her the plate and a cheeky smile.

“Thank you, bread boy!” She sing songs taking the whole dish and sitting it on her lap. “It pays to be related to a baker.” She adds around a mouthful of pastries. “Delish!”

It hits me. Johanna, Haymitch, Annie and Beetee are the closest thing we have to family now. Except for my mother that is, who’s actually my blood. 

We all laugh for a moment, and finally Johanna swallows her food. “So, I took the first train out of 7 after that Christmas tree business conversation we had yesterday morning.” She says unwrapping a muffin. “I figured there was no way I would let you go out into the woods and mishandle a poor baby pine and then leave it somewhere to die since you had no idea what you were doing with an axe.” She throws Peeta a dirty look and he just laughs at that.

“So you’re telling me you came all this way to teach me how to cut down a tree?” He asks her still smiling.

“Yes.” She deadpans. “I’m here to teach you how to do it cleanly and properly. There’s no need to mistreat the poor thing. It’s bad enough your taking it out of its home.”

“I’ll tell you what.” Peeta says sensing there’s more than just Johanna’s love for a tree in the woods where they grow freely any and everywhere. “We won’t cut down a whole tree. But we can get a branch too big to support too much snow during the wintry days, and that way, we’re actually _helping_ the tree.” He says with a half smile and understanding in his blue eyes.

“Okay. That will work. I’m still coming with you. You’re not the most knowledgeable woodsman around.” She says shrugging before finishing her hot chocolate. “I’m ready when you are!” She says slamming her mug down on the carpet.

* * *

Peeta, Johanna and I make the trip just outside the district, to a patch tight with evergreens and a copse of tall pines with great candidates for branch cutting. It only takes us a minute to chose one big enough that we can cut in half and Peeta can bring one to the Children’s Home and another to our house. There’s a moment of debate on how are we actually bringing the limbs all the way back, because the branch is really heavy.

We end up cutting it in three pieces, and we bring all of them one by one to the bakery, since it’s the closest place to store them. We call in a favor from Thom, and borrow his cart and a donkey, and make our way to the Children’s Home first, bringing all the cookies, cakes and pies Peeta and I made on Christmas Eve, plus the Christmas tree. 

Peeta insists the 3 or so dozen children in the home help him cut out different shapes out of white packaging paper he brought from the bakery, and soon we have a pile of paper stars, flowers, hearts, and even a few intricate snowflake patterns from Peeta. We let the children hang them on their Christmas tree and after they’re done, we sit them all at their dining hall tables and serve them all the treats the can eat.

Johanna seems to be having the time of her life, shoving butter cookies into a little girl’s open mouth like a bird feeding her young. The child has barely finished with one, when Johanna’s already offering her another. Suddenly, she sets the girl down and stalks the Home’s director.

“I’m Johanna Mason.” She says as if it’s necessary. The only people in Panem that doesn’t know either of the last surviving Victors, are the very children we are feeding right now.

Still, the director looks a bit scared of her, but he tries to hide it with a polite smile. He thrusts his hand out to shake Johanna’s, even though she’s the one introducing herself to him. “Vincent Gray.” He offers a little shaky. “Thank you for your generosity, Miss Mason.”

“Yeah, so, here’s the deal.” She says shaking his hand roughly, “Is there an adoption process? What’s the protocol here? How many kids can a woman take?”

The director’s eyes grow to saucers and starts stuttering out and answer that Johanna simply ignores, “‘Cause I’m thinking I kinda like the idea of having children, I just don’t want to fu— _friend_ anyone for them, if you catch my drift. I rather take one kid that’s already here and needs caring for than make my own with someone just for the sake of it.”

Peeta and I step away from Johanna and mr. Gray, bringing the children closest to them with us, just so no one is exposed to that conversation that shouldn’t be. If Johanna is serious about adopting a child from this place it won’t do anyone any good to have all this eager little ears listening in and then get their hopes crushed when they’re not picked, because while Johanna may still have lots of coin and money at her disposal, raising a child is not cheap, even she knows that.

The visit to the Children’s Home ends with Peeta and the kids cajoling me into singing a couple of folksy songs, and some of them even join me when they know the words. It’s nice. Sweet. I can see the appeal to take a kid or two from this place, but what about the rest? Peeta and I look into each other’s eyes, and I know coming to this place to feed the children sweets is now a new tradition that will perdure past Christmas.

* * *

Johanna goes to fetch Haymitch for supper after we decorated the tree we brought home.

We put up some of the paper cutouts the children gave Peeta especially as a thank you token for their food. Our Christmas tree is not as full or ornate as the one we left at the Children’s Home, but I like the aroma of fresh pine wafting over the house. Is comforting and somehow reminds me of my father, although he never knew of Christmas. I think he would’ve loved it very much.

“Hey! It’s snowing!” Says Peeta from the kitchen counter overlooking the backyard window, where he’s slicing some bread for dinner.

Peeta’s smiling like an idiot. “I read a bunch of things about white Christmases, which leads me to believe that playing in the snow is a seasonal tradition.” He wipes his hands on a rag after putting the fresh bread on a bowl covered with cloth. “Come on!” He says pulling me by the wrist playfully.

He helps me into my coat and my new scarf and hat, then we’re out the door and under the flurries of snow falling merrily at the last scattered rays of sun of the day. It’s simply beautiful. I turn my head to him and see him stick his tongue out to catch snowflakes on it.

I’m stricken with how beautiful he is, with his overlong hair curling stubbornly over the edges of his winter hat. Snowflakes stick to him everywhere, and I’m wondering how isn’t the He can hold so many snowflakes on his eyelashes. His cheeks rosy and his sweet blue eyes alight with mirth while he stands on one foot, stretching back and forth as if he’s trying to catch an specific flake out of the bunch. He’s like a little boy. Cute and adorable.

Once again, I find myself tackling him in my rush to hold him and kiss him. Since he was already standing on just the one leg, we fall to the ground where the powder is just starting to stick and we are both laughing. Suddenly, our eyes meet and a heated look passes between us, our lips collide in a passionate kiss and his arms wrap tightly around me. A million little memories spring up to my mind, and when Peeta pulls back from the kiss I know he’s remembering too.

“We’ve been here before. Real, or not real?” He asks unsure.

“Real. Sort of.” I say drawing patterns on his chest with my fingers, not truly meeting his eyes for long. “It’s how we started our Victory Tour. We were supposed to meet on the lawn in front of our houses, and it was pretty snowy. You were still trying to get used to your new leg, and I guess I was overly enthusiastic when we met. We fell to the ground, and...” I let the words linger, suddenly very sad. Has it been two years since then? 

“It was the first time we kissed, touched, since the games, wasn’t it?” He asks. 

I look up at him to gauge his mood and reaction, but he just looks sad and expectant too. All I can do is nod shamefully. 

“I’m sorry for not being a very good friend back then.” I said. “It was a hard time for you, and I couldn’t be bothered to try and patch up things between us.”

”It was a hard time for the both of us, Katniss. I think we did what we could we what we had. We were both damaged and recuperating—“

”But you were alone!” I protest.

”And now we’re married and free of the Capitol. Whatever happened between those days and now, led us here, and I wouldn't change anything.”

He starts kissing me, and just because they’re a pain in our necks, Johanna and Haymitch took this moment to come calling our names and making crude jokes when they finally find us. 

I scoop Buttercup up from the the side of the house before going inside and the idiot tries to bite my fingers. “Hey! Cut it out. I have half a mind to let you stay out here and see if you can fend for yourself in this cold.” 

Buttercup gives me a disdainful glare but stays put. I think he can kind of understands what I tell him. 

“You two ready to come eat? Food is getting cold. There’s nothing worse than having to wait on annoying little lovebirds letting food get cold. It makes my stomach churned. Haymitch grumbles at us, but when I see the flash of fondness in his deep gray eyes, I know he’s happy he has us. 

As we sit at the table I’m grateful for the people in my life, the ones that are here and the ones that left us. They made me who I am, and they gave me my current family. 

“I guess Christmas supper with loved ones is a tradition we can stand behind.” Peeta whispers to me as we set the dishes on the table. 

I smile at him. “Christmas time with you is a tradition I hope to uphold.” 

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’m one of those people that thinks Panem threw Christmas observance out the window in its early stages after its formation, and they would’ve completely forget everything about it by the time Katniss and Peeta entered the story. 
> 
> My basis for this thinking is that in the text there’s no religion or belief system, in fact, there’s a moment in which Katniss is studying paintings of cherubs on a domed ceiling and she has no idea of what she’s looking at, simply calling them: “Chubby babies with wings” or something to that effect. It’s a common tactic of totalitarian regimes to erase any type of faith so their people is more dependent on the government and less inclined to have hope and expectations. 
> 
> Christmas is the celebration most rooted in Christianity, which I think would be the first holiday to leave in a distopic Panem, but I also find it very plausible that the new government would make an effort to bring back some of those forgotten celebrations just to show the people freedom came with new things to observe. 
> 
> I was glad for the opportunity to imagine how they would have gone around bringing Christmas back, and how our beloved Everlark would adapt to it. Thank you MegaAUlover for the great prompt. Hopefully it was satisfactory for you. 
> 
> Merry Christmas y’all!


End file.
